


Something Clean

by molo (esteefee)



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-09-18
Updated: 2005-09-18
Packaged: 2017-10-17 10:21:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/175829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteefee/pseuds/molo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Missing scene from <i>the Crying Child.</i></p><p>See end notes for warning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Clean

Starsky found him on the greenhouse deck, hands deep in potting soil. It's where he always found him after a bad day, but today had been particularly ugly.

 _Guy_. That poor little kid. Thinking it was normal, to be whipped like dog and left in a trashcan. He and his too-wise, silent sister were now with their father, thank God.

Starsky saw his partner stiffen at his footsteps, but he didn't turn; his hands were still in the dirt, carefully easing the clumps clinging to the roots of a plant. Starsky waited patiently until the delicate operation was complete and the plant was firmly settled in its new home before he came up behind him and wrapped his arms around Hutch's waist, leaning his chin on the broad shoulder to look down.

"Some day, huh?"

Hutch nodded wordlessly and poured a little water on the freshly repotted plant. The soil on his hands turned to mud as he smoothed it one last time before putting the plant back on the shelf above. The movement pulled his shoulder from under Starsky's chin. Hutch shifted as if to leave, but Starsky tightened the grip around his waist, stopping him.

They stood silently for a moment, until at last Hutch turned in his arms and met Starsky's look. The light from the kitchen filtered through the window to glance on his cheeks and the pale blue of his eyes. His lids looked tight, the sad pull at the corners more pronounced.

Starsky dropped his arms to take Hutch's hands, but Hutch raised them in silent warning.

"Looks like you've been playing in the mud," Starsky said softly, then made his voice deliberately stern, "I hope you didn't get your clothes dirty." He held his breath.

Hutch looked at him a long moment, and then something in his face eased, some hidden muscle that had drawn the flesh flat across his cheeks. The corner of his mouth twitched, and he bent down and touched Starsky's lips with his own for a brief moment before pulling back.

"I didn't," Hutch said at last, his voice sounding rusty. "You know I always try to be good."

"Maybe that's your problem," Starsky offered, and then made a laughing sound of protest a moment later when two muddy hands reached for his shirt collar, pulling him in for another kiss, this one a little less restrained. _Getting there_ , thought Starsky.

While Hutch's lips were busy on his, Starsky reached behind him to grab a handful of potting soil, which he promptly dumped down the back of Hutch's pants.

"Starsky!" Hutch's outrage was sweet music. Starsky started laughing when he saw Hutch's shocked expression, and his snickering turned semi-hysterical when Hutch twisted to reach for some dirt and then lifted his hands toward him with obvious intent. Starsky back-pedaled rapidly, still laughing, his breath huffing as he searched for an escape route.

"Dirty boy," Hutch muttered, stalking him. The lounger caught Starsky in the back of his legs and he teetered backward, landing hard on the cushions. Then Hutch was on him, raising his shirt to rub the dirt into his quaking abdomen. The gritty soil was cold, a pleasant contrast to the heat that was rapidly rising in his groin from feeling Hutch's hands on him.

"Oh, no. I've made a mess," Hutch said with mock contriteness, and he straddled Starsky's waist.

Starsky raised his hips so that his groin pressed up against Hutch's ass. Hutch's eyes closed briefly and Starsky grinned. "Gonna have to punish you, Hutch," he said.

The pale face grew rigid and Hutch's eyes opened to look down at Starsky.

 _Losing ground_. Starsky heaved himself up to wrap his arms around Hutch's shoulders, pulling him down for another kiss. Hutch resisted at first, but Starsky kept at his lips, teasing them with his own, and tracing the softness of Hutch's mouth with his tongue until it opened to him.

"I think the dirty boy needs a shower," Hutch growled after breaking the kiss, and he stood to haul Starsky to his feet. Hutch pushed him through the screen door and toward the bathroom, dirt powdering the carpet in their footsteps.

In the shower, Hutch rinsed the soil from Starsky's stomach in slow circles, hands going no lower than his belly button. Starsky leaned back and enjoyed the slow caress, trying to keep his excitement tamed to Hutch's pace. It was hard going. Those hands, whenever they touched him... They were gentle, now, Hutch soaping him slowly across his shoulders and chest, meticulously washing his nipples, his belly, his underarms. Even his forearms and his hands were taken and given the same attention.

The pale blue eyes were focused, intent on the task. Starsky watched Hutch's face, the sad concentration pulling at him until his hands rose to push back the damp, curling strands from Hutch's cheeks. Hutch gripped Starsky's shoulders and turned him, then began soaping his back, his hands going low to stroke his butt, his fingers slipping between Starsky's cheeks to cleanse him intimately. Starsky shivered.

Then wet skin was pressed up against his back, sliding sweetly, Hutch's erection grazing Starsky's buttocks as Hutch's arms came around him and his soapy hands at last took possession of Starsky's hard cock.

"Ahh. Babe." Starsky broke the silence with a soft moan as Hutch stroked him slickly, washing his dick, his balls, and pressing up on the skin beneath. But his touch didn't linger, and Starsky's teeth clenched in frustration as Hutch pulled away once again.

Starsky was gently directed under the spray, and the warm water ran through his hair and down his neck. There was a pause, then Hutch began soaping his hair, the long fingers digging through his wet curls to rub at his scalp. Starsky sighed and tilted his head back to rest it against Hutch's shoulder. There was a brief touch of lips at his temple, almost too quick to register, and then he was back under the spray, fingers tugging and rinsing his thick hair carefully. Then he was turned again.

He opened his eyes and saw Hutch's face, still set but looking more peaceful, somehow. Hutch started to sink to his knees.

"Hold on, Hutch," Starsky whispered, and he bent down to grab the small, thick towel that Hutch used as a bathmat. Starsky dropped it onto the floor of the tub, and Hutch gave him a grateful look as he knelt on it. Suddenly no longer shielded from the shower's spray, Starsky felt it strike him on the chest, stimulating him further. Then Hutch took his erection in his hands and guided it to his mouth.

"Ahhhhh." Starsky closed his eyes and then put his hands on Hutch's shoulders to steady himself as Hutch's hot mouth engulfed his cock. "Oh, babe."

Hutch sucked him strongly, his tongue playing underneath the head, and then took him deeper, then deeper still, until his lips surrounded the very base of Starsky's cock. Starsky moaned and swayed back and forth slowly. Hutch started moving his head in a circle, swallowing against him, the back of his tongue trapping and squeezing him with seductive pressure. Starsky opened his eyes to watch Hutch working his cock. The pale eyes were staring up at him through the spray, and Starsky's hands moved to hold Hutch's head and feel it moving over him, around, and up and down, until need demanded that he thrust into that hot, moaning wetness, and he gripped tighter and started fucking Hutch's mouth. Hutch went still and relaxed, letting Starsky push him and pull him to meet each thrust until his release was upon him and he came, still staring down into Hutch's eyes as his cock spasmed and the pleasure finally forced Starsky's eyes closed.

They both were motionless for a while, Starsky's softening cock still in Hutch's mouth while Starsky groaned quietly, shaking a little in the aftermath. Then he felt Hutch pull away and gently cup his lax genitals so the water pooled around them, rinsing them clean once again.

Starsky tugged at Hutch's shoulders and he rose carefully to his feet.

"Hutch." Starsky stroked the wet hair at the back of Hutch's neck before pulling him in for a kiss. Hutch was passive, letting Starsky taste himself within his mouth. Starsky reached to take hold of Hutch's cock but Hutch's hand stopped him.

"I came with you," Hutch whispered. Starsky's heart took a hard beat at the words.

Hutch turned and started soaping himself, and Starsky sighed and pulled back the shower curtain to step out and dry off. He went to Hutch's bed and, thinking quickly, stripped the sheets and exchanged them for fresh, making the bed neatly. By the time Hutch came in, naked, rubbing a towel over his hair, Starsky was folding back the top sheet in a crisp triangle.

He saw Hutch smile, and they climbed together into the big bed to meet in the middle. Hutch pulled Starsky into his arms and worked one long leg between his. His hand came up to tangle in Starsky's damp hair, and Hutch pressed his face against Starsky's head, inhaling deeply.

"Clean," Hutch murmured.

Starsky squeezed his eyes shut for a moment.

"Yeah, babe. We're clean."

 _Finis._

September 2005  
San Francisco, CA

**Author's Note:**

> The Crying Child is an episode about physical child abuse. This hints at a past for Hutch. Maybe be triggery.


End file.
